We have an anniversary coming up next month. Sixty-four years since we said, “I do”. Sixty-four years of better/worse, richer/poorer, parenthood and retirement as well as early marriage disagreements about the acceptable way to hang the toilet paper. (Our first argument)

We survived all that despite the fact that my husband rather foolishly chose someone very young and immature as his bride. Together we’ve muddled through the peaks and valleys and challenges sixty-four years of marriage can bring. Now we are in the “sickness/health” stage, still surviving, sometimes wondering which of us is the caregiver. After 64-years, this must be love.

A group of psychologists posed the question about the definition  of love to a group of 4-8 year olds. The answers they got were wonderfully profound.

“Love is what makes you smile when you’re tired.”

Terri – age 4

“You really shouldn’t say ‘I love you’ unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.”

“Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.”

Elaine – age 5

“Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together, and you talk more. 

Emily – age 8

“Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.”

I looked in the mirror the other day (something I usually try to avoid), somewhat horrified what I saw. Who IS that? What happened to me? Where did I go? And what does my spouse think about the departure of his blushing bride and the advent of all these wrinkles? Actually, he doesn’t really seem to notice, and I think he means it when he tells me I’m still beautiful. 

When we were newlyweds, we had a neighbor who set her alarm for five a.m. every morning in order to get up and put on her make-up before her husband saw her. I don’t know how long she kept that up, but I do know her marriage didn’t last. Thankfully, mine has but I don’t think that has anything to do with my appearance. It has to do with shared values and commitment and patience and understanding and history and acceptance of one another, just the way we are. And it’s nice to know love trumps wrinkles.

So here we are in this “senior” chapter, filling our dance cards with medical appointments and early bird dinners, wading hearing loss (closed captions on the TV), failing eyesight, joint replacement, arthritis, stairs (why did we ever think a multi-level house was a good idea?) and copious quantities of pills but still holding hands as we nurse each through various declines. And we are so accustomed to and comfortable with one another’s idiosyncrasies we no longer notice them. I think that’s what love is.

 “Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.”Tommy – age 8